


Allow Your Strength To Show

by a_q



Category: Lockout (2012)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Bathing/Washing, Caring, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub, F/M, Friendship/Love, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, Nail Polish, Pet Names, Pillow Fights, Romance, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_q/pseuds/a_q
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pulling a truth out of Snow takes some work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allow Your Strength To Show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spatz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatz/gifts).



> Based on the prompt suggestion: "Snow is secretly submissive and fucked up about it, and Emilie figures it out."

“Your new bodyguards are a bunch of incompetent fuckers,” Snow shouted the second she closed the front door behind her. “You should fire all of them.”

Emilie pulled off her coat and tossed it on the couch before walking to the bedroom. Snow lay on the bed, playing with the TV remote with an annoyed frown. The television set blinked and beeped in irregular intervals, the channels mixed up somehow. He poked the remote harder. She had left him this morning in that same position, tangled with that same battle. The television set must have one-upped him during the day.

“Oh? How’s that?” Emilie asked, sitting down on the chair to pull her shoes off, setting them on the floor. “You haven't even met them yet.”

“I had a clear shot at you three times today. It only takes one bullet to splatter your brain all over your bodyguards’ precious suits. I like a woman who still has their original head intact, I'm old-fashioned like that.”

Emilie thought about his comment, walking to the adjoined dressing room to return her jewelry back to the safe. When Snow had seen her place, the dressing room had annoyed him the most. Apparently he could’ve parked a car there, and use the rest of the space for an apartment. He had refused to put any of his things in there, so officially he stayed in the guest room, even if he hadn't slept anywhere else but in her bed.

“You followed me around today, planning how to shoot me,” Emilie ventured, pushing the door of the safe shut. “What does that mean? Are you bored?”

“I wanted to see what your security team looks like, and I’m telling you, that tiny redhead is the only one with any skills. The rest, complete waste of space. I could get through them in thirty seconds.”

“Then I’m glad you didn't try. When the bodyguards take a sick leave, it always messes up the day schedule,” she said, walking back to the bedroom and sliding next to him on the bed, slumping against the pillows. “Did you stay to listen my speech?”

“Yes, I did,” he said, landing on the weather channel. “You are a great speaker. I don't know why you waste your talents talking about tropical birds, but you captivated your audience. Especially the three guys in the back, they kept applauding after every point you made. If you had said you wanted to wear those bloody birds as a hat, they would've brought them to you, endangered or not. Hell, I would've skinned the birds myself.”

“Thank you, that's sweet. I think.” Emilie scooted closer, pulling his arm around her shoulder and leaning against his side. “What else did you do today, beside plan how to attack me?”

He shrugged, hopping on to the infomercials, where an elderly man tried to clean a touch pad by plunking it into a sink. “I wouldn't have attacked you, I aimed at your bodyguards. If they were any good, they should've spot me. I should talk with the head of security about training them. If I can get past those rookies, it means you can too.”

Emilie smoothed her hand over his chest. His t-shirt was soft and worn, the picture waded into a blob of blue color. She rested her palm over his left side, feeling his heart beat under her hand. “I don't mind if you do, but I have to warn you, Mr. Bryce is ex-marine. He doesn't like you CIA types. He will tell you to run back to your mistress like a good little dog.”

Snow stopped playing with the remote. His was face flushed, his heart thumping fast against her palm. Emilie looked at him, surprised. She had tried to be funny, to make him laugh. His sense of humor was as off-kilter as hers, joke like that wouldn't make him blush.

“Snow?” she asked, glancing at the tv, then back to him, trying to figure out what had riled him. Then she realized that he had a hard-on. He was quick on the draw, but not this quick. His heart beat faster under her hand when he noticed that she had noticed.

“Oh. Was it something I said?” Emilie asked, and then it clicked. That nagging, elusive feeling Emilie had had for weeks now, that Snow waited for her to understand something without saying it outright, how he loved to argue, not upset but thrilled when he lost to her. What the occasional eager look meant, when she ordered him to do something. It was a revelation. In a split second she saw their whole relationship in a new, different light. She stared at him surprised. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

Snow bounced up, tugging his shirt down awkwardly to hide his hard-on, what help that was, and turned to leave. “I have to go.”  
  
“No, don't you dare! This is important,” Emilie said, sitting up hastily, her tight skirt riding up her thighs. “Don't bullshit me now. What interested you? The humiliation? The part about the dog? Mistress?”

“Leave it, Em. It's nothing.”

“Nothing? Thousand dollars worth of designer lingerie haven't gotten that reaction out of you that fast, and one sentence does it? There's a magic word here, and I want you to tell me what it is.”

“No fucking way,” he declared and turned to open the door.

“Marion Snow, do NOT touch that door,” Emilie warned.

He turned. “Why? What if I do?” He got the stupid, stubborn look that Emilie recognized. He picked a fight on purpose, to get out of the discussion. Any other time, she would've let him get away with it, but not now. This was too important.

"Don't touch the door," she repeated.

He stared at her, then prodded the door with his finger and smirked, like this meant he had won.

“Right. If that's how you want to play,” Emilie said, staring right back at him. She pushed up to her knees, snatched a pillow and threw it at his head. He ducked and the pillow lopped at his feet. He reached to push the door again. She took another pillow and threw at him, this time smacking straight in chest.

“Is this it?” she asked, picking up another pillow. “You like to piss people off until they smack you? In that case, you hit the jackpot, buddy. I can do this all night if that's what you want!”

“I want to, you don't understand how much, but I better go,” he said.

“Stop being such a big chicken, and get back in here. Tell me what you want. Please?”

He picked up the pillow at his feet, avoiding her eyes. “You're the smartest, toughest, most decent woman I've ever met, Em. I don't want you to deal with all my fucked up shit, alright?”

“Oh, stop that bullshit Snow, don't put me on some stupid pedestal! It's me, remember? I'm difficult and stubborn and I drive you up the wall. I whacked you with a fire extinguisher and you punched me in the face! You know we can deal with each others crap,” she said, hoping he would listen to her. “You can trust me. Talk.”

“You don't have to do this Em, I'm fine with the way the things are,” he said, but took a step closer, clutching the pillow like a shield. “I don't need anything else.”

“But are you happy?” Emilie asked. “You never unpacked, you use disposable toothbrush. There's nothing of yours in here. I thought I would wake up one morning, and find you gone, no explanation.”

“I figured you would tell me to get the hell out one day,” he admitted. “That's what usually happens, sooner or later.”

“I want you to stay Snow, and I want to make you happy, if I can,” she said. “Please, would you let me?”

Snow hesitated, but sat down on the bed. Emilie took the pillow from him, and patted the bed, moving to make room for him. He lay back down and Emilie tugged the pillow behind his neck, to make him comfortable. Emilie straddled his hips and he smiled cautiously up at her, but stayed silent. She watched his expression as she hitched her skirt even higher, leaning forward to settle against his chest. He touched her thighs, hesitant.

Emilie had always liked to lay on top of him like this and kiss him as much as she liked. Snow had always obliged. Before this she had thought it was all for her benefit, but now she saw in a new light. Emilie felt a whole new thrill about something as simple as kissing.

She kissed him like it was their first time, enjoying how he felt under her, how he responded to her touch. She kissed and stroked him until she felt him relax.

“Now, tell me,” she asked quietly. “What did I say that you liked?”

“Mistress,” he said, just as quiet. “That's what I want to call you, because it suits you, Em. I can't help thinking about it. I love how you argue, how you push right back, how smart you are. How you stayed in that fucking space trap, even if it meant certain death at the time. You know what's right, and I need you to keep me straight and narrow. I can't do it on my own.”

“Sounds reasonable, nothing scandalous yet,” Emilie said, and kissed him again to show her appreciation. “Mistress. I think I could get used to that. Is there something you like to be called in turn?”

“You can choose,” he said. “Try something out, see what fits.”

“What else? What do you need from a mistress?”

“No, your turn now. I want to know what would you do?”

“I've never been a mistress,” Emilie said, tracing the shape of his shoulders under the cotton, thinking all the possibilities. “I think the first thing would be to give you a good, thorough cleaning, to get you all fresh and clean for me. I would take you to a spa. Salt scrub to get rid of the first layer of filth, then seaweed wrap, plunk you into the warm mud bath, then a massage, then they would rub moisturizer all over you, until you were soft and supple like a little lamb. You could smell like flowers. Does that sound fun? You could be so pampered and relaxed, that there wouldn't be a single argument left in your pretty head.”

“That won't stop me from arguing,” he braved, clutching her knees. He sounded out of breath, and Emilie smiled. He enjoyed this already, and she had barely started think about all the possibilities.

“I'm sure. I will enjoy and cherish every argument that you can think of while you are on the massage table. If you want, I can hold your hand while they work on you. After you got the manicure of course.”

“Manicure? No fucking way.”

“Look at these,” Emilie said, pushing up to her knees, taking his hands in hers and showing them to him. “Do you think you can touch me with these? I don't think so, my little darling lamb. Wouldn't you like some nail polish too? The guys might ask why you wear it, and you could tell them how your mistress dotes you. Would you like that?”

He shook his head, squirming underneath her. Emilie squeezed her knees like holding on to a bucking horse, and he relaxed again.

“No? Well, maybe just the toes then, you can keep that as your own, special treat. I'll choose some lovely color for your pedicure.”

“And then?” he asked, flushed. “What else would you do?”

“When you are groomed the way I like, it would be a shame to hide all this beautiful skin,” Emilie mused, sliding her hands under his t-shirt and pushing it up to reveal his flat stomach. “I don't think you need to unpack your clothes. You can stay naked from now on, and I'll put a cute bow on you, so you know you are my little lamb. A blue bow is all you can wear. How does that sound?”  
  
“What will you do, if I don't wear your bow?”

“You don't know what kind of bow I'm talking about, or where I'm going to wrap it,” Emilie teased. “Don't you want to try how it feels before arguing?”

“But if I don't want to,” he insisted, staring at her. “What then?”

“Then tell me,” Emilie said, serious. “We don't do what you don't like.”  
  
“That's all?”

“I want you to be happy, and tell me when you are not. I love you, don't you know that?”

“Is that true?” he asked, sounding hesitant, like he feared this was all a trick, an elaborate trap. Emilie leaned to kiss him, before answering his question.

“Of course it is. You're mine, Snow, and I'm yours. Whatever else we do, grows from that. I trust you, and I got your back no matter what but I'm not afraid to tell you the truth, or whack you with a fire extinguisher if I think you need it.”

“Thank you," he said, reaching to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. "I love you."

"I know," Emilie said against his shoulder. “Just you wait. I'll spoil you rotten, my darling lamb.”


End file.
